


It Had To Get Better

by PaxEirene (ValaEnVash)



Series: Visits to Baker Street [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Ficlet, 221B Shorts, F/F, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:04:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValaEnVash/pseuds/PaxEirene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain John Watson, former doctor and soldier in Her Majesty's Royal Army Medical Corps, held his illegal service weapon in his left hand, debating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Had To Get Better

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own 'Sherlock' or any of the characters therein. I have only temporarily taken them out to play. Please don't sue. Thanks!
> 
> The stories found here will be a collection of '221B' shorts. Yes, it is marked 'COMPLETE', but it is anything but finished. So, keep an eye out for more and feel free to msg me and ideas you have. I'll be happy to accept anything you might wish to share!

Captain John Watson, former doctor and soldier in Her Majesty's Royal Army Medical Corps, held his illegal service weapon in his left hand, debating. He'd cleaned his weapon just hours before – dismantling, brushing, oiling, then reassembling it perfectly, albeit slowly.

His weapon. His choice.

Cool metal, warmed by the grip of his hand, shook ever so slightly, displaying the tremor he'd gained that had ruined his career. If he intended to proceed, he'd need a much steadier hand.

Sighing, John placed the safety back on and stored it once more in his desk.

Ella had insisted he write in that infernal blog. 

About what?  
His sister slowly drinking herself to death?  
His neighbor, Marcus Abernathy, the recently-discharged Lieutenant who'd slit his wrists earlier that day?  
How John had been the one to find him?  
Maybe he'd write about how angry he'd been that Marcus had given up.  
Or maybe that John had been jealous Marcus had the bollocks to actually go through with it?

No. He'd take a walk, grab a coffee, mail the letter to Bill he'd been meaning to send off.

One last look around the small bedsit that held the entirety of his life earned a sigh and a promise: He would swallow the hurt, work through the pain. Because somehow, some way, it  _HAD_  to get better.

 


End file.
